


Unnecessary

by vocalpeter



Series: Road to Recovery [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky - Freeform, Death, Depression, Gen, M/M, Neglect, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sad Ending, Sad Peter, Self-Harm, Suicide, non spiderman, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14736396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocalpeter/pseuds/vocalpeter
Summary: peter suffers from PTSD after the Vulture incident and after some how losing his powers, is past starts to take a toll on him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> its 2am, ive run out of bucky/peter stories to read and im in a really sad mood so im gonna whip this and dish it out.
> 
> WARNING:  
> this is really graphic, really sad, really fucking horrible and if you are sensitive to content mentioned in the tags PLEASE do NOT continue reading. take the time to make the right choice and if this isnt for you then do not go on from here.

Peter yanks at the collar of his shirt; it’s wet with his tears and makes his neck itch. He wants it to loosen up, it feels too close to his throat, like it’s suffocating him. He tries to hold in a sob as he pulls harder, feeling the fabric rub on the back of his neck. He hisses at the pain when it rubs harshly against his frail skin.

After a crazy battle against some low tier villian with a sad excuse of a lazor gun, Peter woke up the next day blind as can be and incredibly ill. Since that day he’s never been able to sense danger, his spidey sense completely switched off. He’s always tripping and falling and getting hit in the back of the head thanks to one Flash Thompson on the daily. He can’t produce his webs, or climb up the walls of his bedroom and he definitely can’t go out and patrol the city anymore.

Spider-Man is dead to the city. Has been for a week now. But Peter assumes it’s for the best. Esspecially now.

Looking down at himself, at the cuts bleeding profusely on his arms, dangerously deep but not too deep to his veins, Peter knows he can’t put on that suit. He can barely even think about it without wanting to tear open the marred skin of his body again.

The thought of saving people when he could barely help himself makes me feel like the biggest fucking idiot.

Spider-Man was a sad excuse of a vigilante. Too young to go out and fight the real bad guys, too inexperienced to fight battles in other realms. Essentially, Spider-Man was just another Peter Parker. Looked down on. Unnecessary.

Unwanted.

The city still prospers without him around.

The pain snaps Peter back to reality. 

The blood on his arms is dark, sticky. Peter knows it’ll stain the white tile of the bathroom, but he’ll just throw a pretty colored rug over top and call it a day. May won’t know the difference, she can hardly tell that Peter is slicing himself open everyday anyways.

Not bothering to patch himself up, Peter hauls himself up off the floor, leaning against the wall for support as his vision wavers from black dots to blurry objects  as he gets his eyes adjusted to the light again. He does clean up the counter though, washing away the blood splatters and the razor he stole from May’s bathroom in his medicine cabinent. After that, Peter turns off the light and walks into his dark room, burying himself under the blankets and waiting for sleep to take him away.

 

-

 

With losing his powers, Peter had to come clean to Tony and Ms. Potts. He mentioned the battle, the gun, and how he was no longer able to fight alongside the Avengers. Of course, Pepper was just fine with letting the boy stay around for a while, but Tont quickly lost interest in him.

Peter had been walking around the lab, looking over blue prints to a glorious looking Spidey suit when Tony came trudging in, half awake with a glass of green liquid in his hand. It took him 10 minutes of looking around his plans and prints to notice Peter perched on a stool looking over his things.

”What do you think you’re doing down here?” Tony asked, tone unidentifiable. Peter went to answer but Tony beat him to it. “Authorize Personnel Use Only,” Tony said, referring to the label on the lab door just before you come in. Peter knew, he put it there after his first month of being in the lab.

”I was just-“

”You were just leaving,” Tony interrupted. Peter swallowed thickly, taking a few seconds before he stood up. Tony had never kicked him out before.

He’d never even used that tone of voice. Or that look of disdane. The Tony before him was definitely not right, not the real one. 

All because he lost his powers.

All because he lose that fight.

All because of that stupid gun.

”Mr. Stark, I just wanted to tell you that i have some ideas for a new suit. With this print I can defi-“

”Did I ask you to make up anything for a new suit?” Tony asked rhetorically. Peter shook his head. “Exactly. You have no purpose being here,” He huffed, reaching over to grab a wrench. Peter scuttled out of his way and Tony eyed him wearily. “Until you magically get your powers back then,” Tony crumpled up the print with the design on it, tossing it over his shoulder to the trash can full of undesirable ideas. 

The message had been sent.

Loud and clear.

 

-

 

After the whole ‘you have no purpose’ thing with Mr. Stark, he kept his distance. He still hasn’t seen his mentor since it happened and that was almost a month ago. 

Peter, still technically an intern at the tower, foound himself aimlessly walking around the halls on the quieter levels. The old penthouse was always the busiest. Wanda was always around with Vision, both usually just reading books on the couch while Sam spent time with Clint and Natasha in the gym. 

But today it felt more... Crowded.

December is always busy for everyone. Mr. Stark has loads of plans to send out gifts to charities because apparently Pepper signed something saying he would, Steve and Bucky would always come out from their shared room in the tower and join everyone, and Bruce would finally re-emerge from the confinement’s of his personal lab. Peter always appreciates this time, but right now, he felt more lonely.

”Auntie Nat,” He tries, but she won’t answer so he taps her shoulder. She turns her head to look at him, expression blank as she gives him attention. But Peter _knows_ her. As young and as inexperienced as he is, Peter can read Natasha better than anyone, besides Clint, and right now she was using her ‘I don’t want to talk to you, leave me alone,’ blank expression with him.

”Yes, Peter?” Even her tone is unhappy, but to others it sounds curious. Peter shrinks, feeling guilty as he looks down and back up to her. He shakes his head and she gives him a look, one Peter knows to be addressing him with annoyance. Peter gets up from his seat at the island and begins to let his feet take him elsewhere.

The Tower, as big as it is, gets too cramped too quickly. Peter, even without the hyper awareness of his surroundings with every sense turned up to full volume, didn’t like it. The only place he knew aside from his tint apartment above Clint and Natasha’s was the roof. It‘s bigger than what was shown in photos.

Sitting on the edge of the building, legs dangling over, Peter felt the urgency to dig into his wrists again. The pang of hurt he feels from Natasha’s distant behavior towards him after two years of being under care from her makes him feel replaced.

As if he is just something that she can get rid of easily.

And he is.

Peter feels the tears well up, but he manages to keep his emotions at bay. He was not going to cry just because someone wasn’t going to give him attention.

He was not going to cry because the only people he thought were his family were shutting him out. 

-

 

“May?” Peter called through the apartment. But there was no answer. Instead, he found a note taped to the fridge in May’s pretty script.

’Went out with some friends, enjoy dinner!’

Opening the fridge, there was nothing inside. Not even any left overs from the deli or the pizzeria.

Nights like that became regular for Peter. Starving at the apartment one week with May and starving at the Tower whenever he went to waste time.

There was an unwritten rule that if you dont come quick enough you won’t eat what’s offered. And, with Peter’s lack of energy and restlessness, he never was quick enough, and no one thought to offer the growing teenager food as they ate their share of lunch and dinner around the living area.

Without his too-quick metabolism, he now had the regualar one of a normal growing boy. Still quick to shed pounds if he didnt eat enough.

Peter got used to it though. He knew not to think there would be anything left for him to eat before he went to school, and he knew he wouldn’t have anything to eat for dinner afterwards either. 

After six months of malnutrition and living off of a pure liquid diet with no protein, fiber, or nutrients, Peter shed weight quicker than anyone cared to notice.

But Flash Thompson noticed.

Flash Thompson always seems to keep up with what happens with Peter.

”Never thought you’d be one to watch your figure, Penis,” Flash laughed as he wrapped his whole hand around Peter’s bicep. “Holy _shit_ , look how fucking thin you are!”

Peter yanked his arm back before he turned to walk away, but Flash was stronger, quicker.

In a second, Peter was laid out on the cement outside of campus. He could feel his nose throbbing and the shaking of his hands. He couldn’t hear, the sound of ringing in his ears and the sharp ache in his head hurt him too much to want to open his eyes and see.

”If you want to kill yourself so badly,” the sound if metal clanking and leather on fabric loud. A weight dropped onto his stomach. “Take my belt and do it already,” were the last words ever said to Peter Parker.

 

-

 

It finally was summer. Peter‘s going to be a senior in two months.

Well. He would be.

It was Peter’s second week of June in the Tower. He’s already taken a perimeter search to check if anyone was around. It was funny to think they wouldn’t be avoiding him still. After securing his surroundings Peter half carried and half dragged a chair up the stairs to his bedroom.

It’s time.

Tears fell as he sits on the chair, the leather belt Flash threw at him all those months ago still in his hands. But Peter thought ahead, like always. Standing up, he quickly walks over to his dresser, opening the very top drawer to reveal a long, thick, rough rope. Grabbing it, he got to work.

There were no support beams anywhere in the apartments, only the stairwell to the last floor of apartments, his floor. He could reach it with the chair, but it was just in eyesight of the bottom of the living room.

Dragging the chair out of his room, Peter was rash with his movements. All that studying, all that time wasted on school and the Avengers and with May.. He could’ve done it quick when Uncle Ben died.

He could’ve done it that first day he’d fucked up the Ferry mission.

He could’ve let death take him in that night on the beach with the Vulture.

But no.

Peter’s optimistic.

Was optimistic.

Securing the knots he hurries into his room, looking over all of the notes he’s pre-written over the course of the past year of suffering.

And finally, finally he steps up on the chair, pulling the rope right around his head.

”Master Parker, I’m afraid this falls under the protocol ‘PPP,’ Protect Peter Parker. I will have to inform Master Stark,” FRIDAY says over the loud intercom. Which means whoever is on the shared floor can hear. 

Now or never.

With the last of his strength, Peter kicks the chair back, the metal clanking and scraping against the walls as it falls down the stairs. It makes a loud crash, no doubt someone is going to come check it out.

Peter feels his hands instinctively try to yank on the rope to loosen it, but he knows he doesn’t actually want to. 

His feet go numb first. And then his fingers and hands. He chokes, he can hear himself trying to breathe, trying to get more oxygen into his lungs, but it’s too late.

The tears in his eyes burn as he cries, but he’s not sad anymore. He’s helping everyone else by getting rid of himself.

Just like they wanted.

He sees black boots at the bottom of the stairs. Black boots are rushing to get to him, but

it’s too late.


	2. Eyes Heavy Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its late, yet again, and my heart is sad bc my body is sleep deprived. I can’t sleep ever and its ive started my coffee addiction,, yikes
> 
> I really thought I wasn’t going to continue this, but I wanted to gove ya a little someting because you all seemed to really like my sad angst

“Maybe I’ll just be myself,” Peter grins and Ned sighs, eyeing Peter for a moment.

“Nobody wants that, dude.”

It stung.

Really, Peter should’ve remembered that people were getting tired of him.

 _Are_ tired of him.

Ned’s his bestfriend.

 _Was_ his bestfriend.

Peter forces a laugh as he nods his head and looks around his room. He’s hardly able to sleep at night so the floor is spotless and clean, his desk is clear of clutter.

He hasn’t been by the dumpster in months.

Ned looks down at his phone, Peter sees the screen is blank besides the picture of them and the Decathalon team celebrating their first win of their freshman year, and the time.

“My mom just texted me,” Peter wrings his hands, “She wants me home for dinner.”

It’s 3pm. But Peter doesnt say anything as he nods.

“Yeah, course dude, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

Ned forces a smile. Peter notices how his lips move but his eyes don’t. The other grabs his backpack and leaves the bedroom, abandoning Peter in the empty apartment once again.

Sometimes

Most times

Peter thinks it’ll be better to just be alone. It hurts less when people leave.

-

  
It’s difficult.

Not having his spidey-sense makes him feel more vulnerable. Now, he needs his bulky glasses to see and he has to double his jackets when leaving because it gets too cold for him in the apartment.

May likes it 64 degrees so she can wear her fuzzy pajama pants and not get hot. Peter can’t touch the thermostat or he’ll get his computer taken away.

He’s prone to accidents and illness, no surprise he trips while out for a walk and starts hacking throughout the rest of the day.

May hasn’t bought any Dayquil, so he has to suffer through Halls cough drops on the daily.

That is until he gets to the Avengers Tower.

It’s quiet today.

Almost like they knew he was coming in.

Peter shakes his head and pulls at the sleeves of his blue jumper. It’s hot, but he can’t risk taking off the long sleeve and letting his marred flesh be seen.

Not with his arms scabbed over and over.

Not with his ribcage pulling at his skin and his elbows sharp enough to break if he hits them against a corner.

He shakes his head.

No one cares anyways.

-

Making the decision to kill himself was just because of how tired Peter feels.

Felt.

But, waking up from failing at killing himself?

New form of exhaustion and pain.

His vision’s blurry as he opens his eyes. They feel heavy.

He feels heavy.

His legs and arms are limp and blinking takes up more strength than it honestly should.

Maybe this is just the adjustment.

Maybe he finally did something right.

With that thought in mind, Peter smiles, though the curves of his lips barely twitch as his near lifeless body goes back to unconsciousness.

It’s a miracle.


End file.
